


Seasonal Delights

by chubbychoco



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alien Biology, Bottom Yondu Udonta, Breasts, Corsetry, Dirty Talk, Hraxian Kraglin, Knotting, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Rutting, Self-Lubrication, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 05:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11983062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chubbychoco/pseuds/chubbychoco
Summary: When Yondu's in rut, there's one simple rule Kraglin is expected to adhere to - don't touch the flarkin' pouch.Sometimes Kraglin breaks the rules.





	Seasonal Delights

There were certain things Yondu and Kraglin had always been extremely careful of. Granted, Ravagers weren't exactly poster children for safe sex – particularly not Yondu, with a mountain of fleeting fetishes that would make a hooker bot blush. But still, some things just had to be done a certain way if things were going to keep running smoothly. Lots of prep if anything wider than Kraglin's knot was going in his ass, for a starter. Nothing in the bed that may have prompted more morbid curiosity than horrified revulsion from Quill, the nosy little Terran runt.  
  
And absolutely no pouch action whatsoever if Yondu was in rut.  
  
Kraglin might have not done so well with that last one.  
  
“Gotdammit, Obfonteri,” Yondu hissed, pulling his shirt gingerly over his torso. Everything stung and tingled, buzzing through him in the wake of his orgasm. “You oughta know better by now!”  
  
Kraglin dropped his head, pointedly eyeing his boots as he pulled into them. He decided not to defend himself; 'you make prettier noises than a Kymellian opera singer when I fondle there' would be a poor excuse in Yondu's book, and likely to net him an arrow somewhere he'd rather not find one.  
  
“You keep pawin' me where I don't need pawin' and I'm gonna just set this heap down at the nearest whorehouse until I'm sorted out, you hear me?”  
  
Kraglin nodded sheepishly. He didn't know why Yondu was so particular about it; as far as he could see, it just left him tender. Tenderness would fade...or maybe it would get him riled up sooner, and he'd drag Kraglin back to his cabin again. Straddle him, thighs knocking around his middle, pin his hands up so he couldn't pull down that pretty blue fold and lave his tongue over the skin beneath -  
  
“Kraglin! You got somethin' in your ears, boy?”  
  
Kraglin nearly jumped out of his skin. “Cap'n!”  
  
Yondu rolled red eyes towards the ceiling. “Get your skinny ass dressed and on the bridge, you hear me? Keep the place held down until I get there. Y'think you can manage that, idjit?”  
  
Kraglin nodded firmly, all business at the drop of a hat. Or, well, the putting on of one. “Yessir!”  
  
Yondu nodded with begrudging satisfaction, watching as Kraglin finished making himself look presentable – or whatever Kraglin was that passed as presentable – before dashing out, all knees and elbows. Yondu poked his head out into the hallway, making sure he was well and truly away before going to the mirror and looking over himself worriedly.  
  
So far, so good. His nipples were flushed navy, but that wasn't unusual given what Kraglin had been doing to them. None of the early warning signs.  
  
But he'd have to wait a whole damn week until he knew for sure.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
A week later, the captain had tits.  
  
There was no ignoring it, try as the crew might.  
  
Granted, they weren't the giant things to be found on those who were biologically predisposed to have them...but they were definitely full, pushing out at the chest of his uniform until half of the crew quietly whispered that the screaming noise wasn't the engine, it was the zipper on the captain's jacket. That was _not_ a joke anyone wanted to be caught telling, unless they found themselves wanting some unorthodox and near-fatal body modifications.  
  
They were defined, too, round and plump and so damn jiggly that Kraglin's mouth watered every time Yondu bounded to his feet to bark out an order. His cold-blooded pillow tyrant, gritting out commands and yanking the slower ones back by the hair or ear or antennae with snarled threats to work faster or find out what happened to slackers when he was in a mood like this...  
  
...by Nezarr's frigid metal meat, he wanted that blue hand tangled in _his_ hair. Preferably while he was knot-deep and slamming away. But all Yondu had given him the past few days was a soul-rending glare that made his cock – a part arguably much wiser than the rest of him right now – retreat to the best of its ability.  
  
He found out why on the same day one of the other crewmates was finally stupid enough to ask where they came from.  
  
With Halfnut now nursing a giant, bleeding hole in his thigh and Yondu's mood no less dark for it, Kraglin opened his mouth to speak...and found himself swiftly snatched away by the captain, dragged towards Yondu's room with nothing in the way of preamble. He wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, since historically, anything that resulted in nookie-nookie also involved conversation (or at least an excuse that nobody believed) beforehand. The maiming of a crew member and eight days of silence was less than promising.  
  
As soon as the door slid shut, Yondu engaged the biolock with a deathly snarl. “This is your fault, ya fuck-mad Hraxian dumbshit.”  
  
Okay, so not good. “Cap'n, I swear, I don't even know what I done!” Kraglin protested.  
  
“The hell you don't!” Yondu snapped. “I told you like I tell you every time my system gets to runnin' warm, _don't touch the flarkin' pouch._ Coulda been tattooed on your forehead for how much I say it! And whaddaya go and do?”  
  
“I, uh. Touched the pouch,” Kraglin answered lamely.  
  
Yondu was tearing out of his jacket and top like they were on actual fire, not just emblazoned with it. Once he was down to his undershirt, Kraglin's mouth went dry and his throat painfully tight.  
  
Yondu was wearing a corset; he could see the ribs and ties under the grimy white fabric. Or something like one; Kraglin wasn't too well-versed in the differences between delicates, so long as he could get someone out of them easy enough. But spilling over the top of the corset, and pressed all snug and full at the neckline of his undershirt, were some damn full pecs-gone-tits that looked much, much larger when he realized they were currently being held back by stubborn black laces.  
  
“Oh god, Cap'n,” Kraglin croaked.  
  
“Shaddup, Krags, and lemme see if anythin' sticks in that brain of yours. Centaurians. Why do we go into rut?” The question appeared to be rhetorical, because Yondu quickly filled in, “To make brats. S'why anythin' goes into rut. And before brats can pull down real grub, what do they eat?”  
  
“Ah...milk?” At the toxic look Yondu fixed him in, Kraglin's cheeks flushed a deep enough blue that he almost matched Yondu. “Oh!! Oh, hell, cap'n, I didn't know – don't the, uh, gentler sex usually do the feedin' and such?”  
  
“The hell they gonna do with milk, when us men are what's carryin' the little shits around?” Yondu sniped. Now wasn't the time to remind him that most Centaurian women he knew could turn Kraglin inside-out, 'gentler sex' indeed. “Pups settle in, latch on, an' stay warm. Only I ain't got none, but my body don't know that because _someone_ decided he wanted to get himself a handful while I sat on his dick!”  
  
That made sense. Centaurian birth cycles were extremely short; if a parent started lactating early, it gave them a chance to purge any impurities before the kid started feeding. Then, like Yondu said, once the one parent had given birth, the other could just tuck them in and let them feed until they were strong enough to leave the pouch. Like one of those Terran kangledoos.  
  
But also like Yondu had said, there was no kid.  
  
Just an overeager Hraxian who really, really liked his captain's chest.  
  
“So...when does it go away?” Kraglin asked.  
  
Yondu growled and pulled out of the undershirt, then yanked impatiently at the laces of the corset. Kraglin went weak-kneed as his blood rushed south; yeah, Yondu definitely hadn't been wearing that for shits and giggles. He'd been wearing it to keep his chest at a presentable level. One that fit in his jacket. Now that they were free, they were heavy and wide and probably far more pert than Yondu liked. “When this non-existent brat is off the tit. Or when someone fucks me hard enough to rattle my body into realizin' that there ain't no kid if I'm gettin' railed like that.”  
  
Kraglin's eyes lit up at that. “Well, sir, you just needed to say so.”  
  
“You think I'm gonna _reward_ you for this? You're the reason I'm all full up in the first place!”  
  
“And you're just gonna wait until you're back to normal again, is that it?”  
  
Kraglin should have kept his sharp tongue to himself, because Yondu pursed his lips as if to whistle. He stumbled back a few steps towards the door, a strangled noise of panic bubbling up to pop out from between his lips as Yondu made the tiniest little peep...  
  
...but then, as suddenly as his lips had rounded, they tightened into a thoughtful grimace.  
  
“You know somethin'? You're right.”  
  
Kraglin's eyes went wide. “I am?”  
  
“Don't get used to it. You're gonna get yourself over here and fix me up. Fuck me until I'm cored, drain every drop outta these until I'm smackin' you away.” At 'these', he gestured to the weighty swells of his chest and Kraglin wondered if maybe he was dreaming. “And if you so much as do one thing wrong, I'm gonna punt you clear across the Eclector. They'll be peelin' you off of the cockpit screen, you get me, boy?”  
  
Kraglin nodded eagerly.  
  
Yondu seemed irate at his enthusiasm. “You got some nerve, lookin' as happy as you do 'bout this.”  
  
“Sorry, sir.” With Yondu already down to nothing but pants and yellowed socks, Kraglin figured he was running behind. He yanked out of one boot, then the other, untying neither and nearly falling over and smacking his head on the wall. “I'll try not to enjoy myself.”  
  
“I'd have to be dumber than Taserface to believe that.”  
  
Kraglin stifled a chuckle. Yondu wasn't wrong. He had every intention of going to town, rubbing and grinding and all those other nice 'ing' things that got Yondu loose and hot for him. He would have undressed slower, but Yondu's well of patience ran dry during the best of circumstances, and this was not what one would call the best of circumstances. For Yondu, anyway. He shucked his clothes fast, matching his captain's state of undress before too long, and then shimmying out of his pants, socks catching in the legs.  
  
Yondu stood watching him, taking in those skinny limbs and those tented black boxer-briefs and that nervous metallic smile. Ugh. How'd he end up with this stubbly moron as his favorite bedwarmer? Yondu tamped down the wave of reluctant affection that definitely did _not_ start to well up in his chest at the sight of him all eager to please, shut-your-damn-mouth.  
  
“What'chu still wearin' them for?” he demanded, sliding out of his own – there was no underwear to be found under his red leathers, only a half-hard cock and a round blue ass that Kraglin was looking forward to burying himself in. Yondu relaxed back onto the bed, and Kraglin followed the motion of his chest as Yondu's new anatomy rolled with his muscles, tipping to either side of his body. “Get over here.”  
  
“Yes, sir!” It was a testament to his enthusiasm that those were two separate words. Kraglin managed to clamber between his parted knees, ungainly and clumsy...but once he was there, Yondu could feel himself react predictably enough. Kraglin's heated gaze over his body always set his blood to purring, even if it was steeped in sentiment. “You look - “  
  
“I don't give a damn how I look, Obfonteri,” Yondu cracked. “Get some fingers in me or get out.”  
  
Well, that didn't leave much up to interpretation. Kraglin dropped one hand between Yondu's parted legs, stroking between his cheeks. He was immediately met with a sharp hiss of breath as his fingers ran through more slick than any non-childbearing man had any right to produce. Ah, well. Not his place to question biology, just to satisfy it.  
  
Kraglin nudged gently at that tight pucker at first, and when Yondu gave a warning growl, he pressed one finger slowly in – no waiting for him to soften up for it, but Yondu's own lubrication made up for the lack of relaxation. He watched his finger disappear into soft blue, and Yondu slumped against the bed, finally making a noise that bordered on approval. Kraglin wriggled his finger a bit, not bothering to wait before pumping it in and out a few times. Yondu's thighs twitched as Kraglin worked, stroking him slowly open.  
  
He reached up with his free hand – not for Yondu's cock, which was filling without the help, but over the pudge of his belly and towards one swollen pectoral. He cupped the bottom teasingly, stroking deceptively nimble fingers over the scarred blue skin, and Yondu's back arched into it. Now that was nice. He'd have ran a hand beneath him to keep that curve of his spine up if both of his weren't currently occupied.  
  
Kraglin pushed in a second finger as he cupped Yondu fully, heel of his palm nudging at his pouch, fingers rolling and pinching over his nipple like they had when Yondu was in rut and he'd gotten both of them into this. This time, though, Yondu actually _keened_ , reaching up and grabbing onto Kraglin's shoulder, nails biting into his skin. Also this time, Kraglin's fingers were met with lukewarm wetness instead of dry skin.  
  
He squeaked with surprise even as Yondu gave a tiny groan to match the tiny amount of relief that had brought him. “I just _milked_ you,” he said incredulously.  
  
“And you gonna be doin' a whole lot more of it, less'n you want me to kick you outta this bed,” Yondu reminded him.  
  
“It's gonna make a mess.”  
  
“Why d'you think I'm so damn sore with you over it?!”  
  
He figured that was the least among the causes of his irritation. Still, Kraglin wasn't keen on the mess – the only one he really liked cleaning up was his own, when he came over Yondu's belly and chest. So before he squeezed Yondu dry, they were going to need some solution to the problem...an easy solution.  
  
One that presented itself readily.  
  
One that could have occurred to the simplest of simpletons, and seemed damn appealing beside. As if drinking straight from the tap was gonna be the weirdest shit they ever did.  
  
Fingers still working, stroking Yondu's inner walls with practiced precision, Kraglin dipped his head to nuzzle between Yondu's plush new tits. Yondu opened his mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing, but Kraglin answered that quickly enough. He sealed his lips over one blue nipple, sucking gently.  
  
Yondu yowled, body jolting with obvious surprise as the gentle suction resulted in a damn flood in Kraglin's mouth. Kraglin was slightly less surprised, but only because he'd invited it on himself. He gave a lustful groan, sucking harder, flicking his tongue over the point of his nipple and swallowing hard around Yondu's skin. When he pulled back with a small, quiet 'pop', a thin trickle ran from the corner of his mouth. He glanced down at Yondu's chest, flushed dark.  
  
“It's sweet.” He squinted. “It's _blue._ ”  
  
“Yer' a freak, Krags, you know that?” Yondu laughed breathlessly. “Lappin' at the tit like – oh, oh, _shit,_ don't interrupt me like that.” 'Like that' was, predictably enough, Kraglin dropping back down to the other side, sucking and pulling until he'd got a steady stream going. Alright, so much for not making a mess. First off, there was no way he'd be able to drink everything from both; the stuff was sweeter than Contraxian honeypunch. Second, he had some plans now that he'd heard the noises Yondu made, and he wanted both of them leaking even when they weren't being sucked.  
  
Yondu was writhing against him now, making tiny little gulping sounds interspersed with roughened growls. Kraglin worked in a third finger, spreading and stretching, until Yondu slackened into each stroke and he could feel more quivering inside than outside. Kraglin gave a huff of impatient need; infinite blessings to whatever higher power designed Centaurian biology and all its warm, rolling delights. He rubbed one cheek over the mirror half of Yondu's body, avoiding his nipple yet getting a trail of pale blue on his face all the same.  
  
“Boy, you keep treatin' me all sweet and I'm gonna kick you right outta this bed.”  
  
“Not my fault,” Kraglin murmured, kissing and sucking around the globes of his chest. Dark blue hickies followed the trail of his mouth, making Yondu far squirmier than he'd ever have admitted. “Y'look good, cap'n. Real good. And when am I gonna get the chance to do this to you again?”  
  
“Never, ya idjit. You milk me up again and I'll leave you on an asteroid.”  
  
“All the more reason I should enjoy it now.”  
  
Yondu's pleasured, panting face sharpened to a scowl. “Hurry up and get your dick in me before your brain turns into mush, Obfonteri.”  
  
Kraglin had never been particularly inclined to refuse an invitation to put his pieces somewhere warm, and especially not if that warm spot was Yondu. He withdrew his fingers and scrubbed them off on Yondu's sheets, then – in a rather daring move – gave one thick blue thigh a gentle swat. “On your knees then, sir.”  
  
Yondu quirked an irate eyebrow at him. Clearly, he was too late on the whole mush-brain thing.  
  
“C'mon, you'll like it. I promise.”  
  
Well, he didn't exactly have any reason to doubt him. Yondu pointed a warning finger at him before propping himself up on his elbows, giving an impatient click when his tits rolled. They followed the ship's artificial gravity as he turned onto all fours, presenting Kraglin with the sweetest picture in a million star systems. The meat of Yondu's thighs, bruised and scarred from a million kinds of trouble; his balls and cock hanging heavy, so hard and full that the plates at the top no longer overlapped; his hole, relaxed and wet and tightening around nothing.  
  
Kraglin didn't need help getting himself ready. He was already aching with need, cock leaking from its slanted tip, and he could hear a hungry noise roil up from Yondu when he looked over one cobalt shoulder. He knew better than to press the limits of his captain's patience. He'd been instructed to fuck him senseless, and he was going to do it before Yondu felt the need to hurry things along. Kraglin bit back a groan as he pressed his tip to Yondu's loosened rim, nudging forward to get the head through before sliding in fast. It wasn't exactly difficult; Yondu took him easy, all snug like he was supposed to fit him just like that. Kraglin sank in until his bony hips were flush with Yondu's not-so-bony cheeks, wriggling around a bit to find the best position.  
  
Fortunately, Yondu answered that for him. The moment he felt the thatch of Kraglin's treasure trail tickling at him, he pushed up, hands off the bed, and pressed his back firmly against his chest. As if he was gonna let the scrawny bastard have him on all fours like a bitch in heat. “Get hammerin',” Yondu gritted, pushing his ass back against him with an increasing lack of patience.  
  
Kraglin grabbed both hips in his hands and didn't bother with building up. He snapped forward hard, feeling the jolt of his own enthusiasm all through his back. Their skin slapped together with an extremely satisfying noise, and Yondu gave a lust-roughened moan. Before he could even start to form the word 'more' in his brain, Kraglin was winding back and slamming in, so far that he nearly pulled entirely away before the heavy press of his cock lay fully inside him again. Yondu approved, if the filthy noise he made was anything to go by.  
  
A few more thrusts had him built to an early gallop. Kraglin wasn't about to let up, and not just because it would result in an arrow pointed at his throat. The wet clench of Yondu's insides and the energetic bucking back to meet him, those were something out of his favorite fever dreams. New and so far underappreciated, though, were those breasts.  
  
_Not breasts,_ Yondu would have snapped. _You think just 'cuz they got some milk in 'em, they're_ breasts _now?_  
  
Kraglin almost nodded to himself. Yeah, they abso-fucking-lutely were. And as Kraglin plunged deep, base of his cock already starting to plump ever so slightly, his hands flew up from Yondu's hips to his chest, sinking his fingers in as hard as he dared. He held Yondu close, using them as grips to keep himself from rocking them both clear off the bed.  
  
The pressure had been enough, but as soon as Kraglin offered each a squeeze, Yondu nearly buckled. By Thanos, those were _sensitive_ now and Kraglin was doing a damn good job of making him almost wish this wasn't going to be a one-time thing.  
  
Kraglin could feel a wet trickle over both hands, and he didn't let up in the slightest – either with his fucking or his grip-slash-massage. Yondu wanted them empty. So they were gonna get emptied, one way or the other.  
  
The sticky sound of skin on skin had been joined with wet noises now, squishing between their bodies as Kraglin hilted over and over. He moaned harshly, sinking his teeth into Yondu's shoulder – he'd pay for that later – and shivering as Yondu planted his hands against the cabin wall to brace them both properly.  
  
That was the leverage he'd been looking for; Kraglin's hips slammed forward like they chased a will of their own, until Yondu's teeth clacked together every time he pushed the growing swell of his knot past his rim. One of Yondu's hands flew back, clawing into his hair, and he was half-worried that his captain was going to pull his teeth free of their grip. As it was, those wanton moans were cut with a growl. Or an attempt at one. Yondu sounded like he was in rut all over again, all shaky breaths and puling noises that he would deny later with very non-metaphorical violence.  
  
Kraglin was getting close; Yondu could tell by the way he finally released the meat of his shoulder with a spitty 'pop' and moved to his neck instead, fastening on in another bite and whining against his skin. Yondu would have scoffed if he weren't completely blissed out and verging on coming himself. Hraxians always got nippy and neck-y when they were going to blow; probably some facet of their biology he didn't care enough to bother himself with. What he _did_ care about was that Kraglin's hands were working with greater precision despite his suffering brain function, pinching and rolling his nipples until chest, hands, and the sheets beneath them were sticky and wet – and _fuck_ , the relief was so palpable, even if his nipples were sore and Kraglin's enthusiasm towards them was starting to push into pain.  
  
“Do it,” Yondu murmured, not for a desired lack of volume but more for a lack of breath. “Finish me right, Kraglin; c'mon, c'mon..!”  
  
Kraglin didn't need the goading. He was already whining with each thrust, no longer able to dislodge himself, and if those tugs hadn't been enough to finish him, the sudden flood of heat inside of him (dammit, how much jizz did one species need) and the shaky stroke of one of Kraglin's hands over his cock would have. Yondu sank his teeth into his lower lip in a mostly-unsuccessful attempt to stifle his cracked, sated moan as he shot against the wall and down onto the already sodden sheets.  
  
Kraglin panted for breath, releasing Yondu's neck slowly and, once the sense came back to him, peering down over his shoulder. “Whoa. That...uh, that's a real big wet spot.”  
  
Yondu would have tightened up if it'd been more punishment than pleasure. As it was, all he was likely to get from it would be a choked-off gasp and a few more spurts from that locked-in stroke of his. “Ya' fuckin' think?”  
  
“What I meant to say is, uh...they empty now, sir?”  
  
Oh, right. Yondu looked down at his swollen chest, one side still gripped in skinny fingers. They weren't down to their normal, non-rutmilked size, but the flow had stopped and they no longer had that annoying liquid sway to them.  
  
And they were sore in a way that wasn't any fun any more, too. Yondu swatted Kraglin's hand away as he palmed over one bruised blue nipple. “Yeah they are, so don't touch.”  
  
“Sorry.” Kraglin dropped both hands back to Yondu's hips, rolling almost imperceptibly. 'Almost' so long as you weren't the one with a fat knot in you, anyway. Kraglin stilled when Yondu let a warning rumble roll up from the depths of his chest. “Sorry.”  
  
“M' hearin' a lot of that. A man could be forgiven for mistakin' it for sentiment.”  
  
Kraglin grinned, thankful Yondu couldn't see him. “I guess they could, cap'n.”  
  
Yondu waited a while to see if he had anything else to say, then rolled his eyes. He and Kraglin were stuck like this for at least another ten minutes, so he might as well make the most of it. Time to reinforce the lesson. “Anythin' you learned today, Obfonteri?” Kraglin shifted slightly, which was telling enough. “ _Obfonteri?_ ”  
  
Kraglin cleared his throat. “I'd expect you wanna hear 'yes'.”  
  
“But?” Yondu prompted, dire warning in his voice.  
  
Kraglin thought better of it. No amount of bone-jarring, sweet-tasting, tit-grabbing sex was worth the med team extracting two feet of active yaka from his asscheek. “But nothin', sir.”  
  
“S' what I thought.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ravagers do not discuss Feelings™ but you know they're boyfriends.
> 
> Just a little gift for the 99th to thank them for (1) fueling my desperate need for Kragdu and (2) opening my eyes to some weird - but by no means objectionable - shit.
> 
> Also, I had no idea Hraxians aren't canon until a while after I wrote this. So: adding credit for Write_like_an_American and RedRarebit for coming up with them.


End file.
